Chapter Two The Mountain of Memory #2
“I’d already known him through my dreams.”
Claire looked up.
“And Grandfather allowed it?”
Her mother laughed softly.
“When some people say they met the man of their dreams…”
“I actually did.”
“I don’t know whether you call it prophecy.”
“I don’t know whether you call it destiny.”
“But your grandfather did not approve because of it.”
“He approved because we chose each other first.”
Claire lowered her gaze again.
“So there really is a choice.”
“There must always be a choice.”
Her mother’s voice became firmer.
“Otherwise everything our society claims to protect becomes meaningless.”
Claire stared into the crystal tonic again.
“What if I don’t want any of it?”
“Then walk away.”
The answer startled her.
“You could leave tomorrow,” her mother continued quietly.
“Disappear into an ordinary life.”
“Some descendants have.”
“But the resonance does not disappear simply because we ignore it.”
The rain softened outside.
“The dreamscape,” her mother said,
“may come.”
“It will never take you away from us.”
“It will never isolate you.”
“It’s an experience.”
“Some of us have it.”
“Some of us don’t.”
“But Grandfather called it the slipping.”
The rain softened again.
Then began falling harder.
The apartment suddenly felt very small compared to the enormity of what sat between them.
It was as though the weather outside was protecting their conversation, so that no other ears could hear it.
Claire finally whispered,
“And Eli?”
Her mother’s eyes dimmed slightly.
“He cannot fully walk away.”
The words landed heavily.
“Why?”
“Because the crystals answer him directly.”
Claire closed her eyes briefly.
Deep down, she had already known.
Her mother lifted her cup slightly.
“One experience,” she said gently.
“No more tonight.”
Claire hesitated.
Then slowly lifted hers.
The crystal beneath the liquid pulsed once.
Softly.
Like a heartbeat.
Together, mother and daughter drank.
The world did not implode into visions immediately.
Instead, everything became quiet.
Profoundly quiet.
The city outside faded.
The heavy rain slowed.
Even Claire’s own breathing seemed distant.
Then the room began filling with light.
Not from outside.
From memory.
She saw mountains first.
Ancient Korea untouched by cities.
Temple bells echoing through forests and fields older than kingdoms.
Then water.
The crater lake.
Whole.
Immense.
Silver beneath two moons.
No.
Not moons.
The reflection fractured.
Claire realised suddenly they were looking upward from beneath the lake.
And something enormous moved through the water above.
Graceful.
Colossal.
Radiant with crystalline veins beneath dark scales.
Not monstrous.
Beautiful.
Ancient beyond comprehension.
She caught only the flash of a tail.
Fish-like.
Delicate.
Dark scales threaded with crystal, impossibly clear and beautiful.
More followed behind it through the black depths.
Like living constellations.
Then came the firebirds.
Winged creatures streaking across impossible golden skies.
The memory shifted violently.
Men arrived.
War.
Excavation.
Explosions tearing into sacred stone.
The great creatures descended deeper into the darkness beneath the crater as humanity spread across the earth above them.
Leaving.
Choosing exile over extinction.
The final thought echoed through the vision before it shattered.
We left the world to mankind.
Claire gasped sharply.
The kitchen returned around her in fragments.
Tears streamed silently down her face.
Her mother was crying too.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Of a shared memory.
“You saw them,” she whispered.
Claire could barely speak.
“They were real.”
Her mother nodded once.
“Yes.”
The crystals inside the bowl glowed softly between them.
And somewhere far across the ocean,
beneath mountains,
hidden by mist and secrecy,
something ancient stirred in its sleep once more.
The glow from the crystal slowly dimmed, but the feeling remained.
Claire sat motionless at the kitchen table, breathing unevenly, her mind still caught somewhere between memory and dream.
The creatures.
The lake.
The unbearable age of it all.
Nothing felt fictional anymore.
Her mother quietly removed the crystal from the bowl and dried it carefully with a cloth before revealing the hidden seam inside the small stuffed ornament attached to Claire’s bag.
She slipped the crystal back inside.
Cute.
Hidden again.
Safe again.
Claire watched her.
“So that’s it?” she whispered.
“We just pretend none of this exists?”
Her mother gave a soft, tired laugh.
“No.”
She secured the final stitch carefully.
“We survive it.”
The answer lingered heavily between them.
Claire lowered her gaze.
“I still don’t understand why they push us toward performance all the time.”
She frowned slightly.
“Dance.”
“Music.”
“Public appearances.”
“Even Imogen being encouraged toward fashion and media.”
Her mother smiled faintly.
“Because it keeps your life from becoming too narrow.”
Claire looked unconvinced.
“That sounds like another carefully worded explanation.”
“It is,” her mother admitted.
Then her expression shifted.
More honest now.
“The celebrity world protects people better than you think.”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
Her mother leaned back slightly in her chair.
“In older generations, descendants were hidden inside political marriages, aristocratic circles and academic institutions.”
She looked toward the rain-dark window.
“Today our protection works differently.”
“Through companies.”
“And entertainment.”
“Especially entertainment.”
Claire frowned harder.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” her mother corrected gently.
“Visibility creates invisibility.”
Claire stared at her.
“If millions of people think they know who you are,” her mother continued softly,
“they stop asking deeper questions.”
The realisation slowly settled over Claire.
Celebrities.
Actors.
Idols.
Public figures.
Masks hidden inside the spotlight.
“The companies your grandfather’s family built over the years,” her mother said carefully,
“weren’t just for money.”
Claire immediately thought of Louise.
The endless meetings.
Talent scouting.
International partnerships.
“There were pathways,” her mother continued.
“Safe routes between countries.”
“Industries.”
“Governments.”
A faint smile crossed her lips.
“Places where descendants could exist publicly without being entirely exposed.”
“And Eli?”
Her mother’s eyes softened instantly.
“Especially Eli.”
Claire looked down.
“He hates attention.”
“Yes.”
A sadness flickered across her face.
“But attention can also protect.”
She hesitated.
“Do you know why some highly sensitive children survive better inside artistic spaces?”
Claire shook her head.
“Because resonance responds well to emotional expression.”
Her mother folded her hands quietly.
“Music.”
“Dance.”
“Acting.”
“Film.”
“Storytelling.”
“These things stabilise the mind.”
Claire thought immediately of Eli sketching creatures for hours in complete silence.
Or how calm he became afterward.
“He draws because it quietens things,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And me?”
Her mother smiled softly.
“You move because it quietens you.”
The truth of it hurt unexpectedly.
Claire leaned back slowly.
“So what now?”
“You expect me to become some actress?”
Her mother laughed properly this time.
“No one can make you do anything.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“No,” her mother admitted,
“but I do think you should consider it.”
Claire stared at her in disbelief.
“You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“Why?”
Her mother became thoughtful.
“Because you’re good at becoming other versions of yourself.”
Claire frowned.
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It’s survival.”
“And Louise?”
Her mother smiled.
“Louise is exactly what Louise does.”
“And she does it well.”
“She’s our protector.”
“She has interests.”
“She has determination.”
“But she is, above all else, a protector.”
“Louise is good at putting people in the right place at the right time.”
“And that is how she survives.”
“And she will help you survive too.”
Claire fell silent.
Even knowing there were people guiding her, supporting her, opening doors before she reached them, she wondered quietly to herself:
If I didn’t have them…
Would I still believe in myself?
The thought settled unexpectedly.
Then, just as quietly, she realised this was her path.
She would walk it in her own way.
Not because it was everything.
But because, perhaps, it was one of the ways she could help others survive too.
The rain had softened now into a low hush against the windows.
Her mother continued carefully.
“You don’t put all your eggs into one basket in our world.”
Claire recognised the phrase immediately from Louise’s endless business conversations.
“You train broadly,” her mother continued.
“Dance.”
“Languages.”
“Martial arts.”
“Media.”
“Diplomacy.”
“Performance.”
She looked directly at her daughter.
“Not because we expect perfection.”
“Then why?”
“Because flexibility keeps people alive.”
Claire absorbed that quietly.
Her mother rose and walked toward the old cabinet near the hallway.
From inside she retrieved a thin leather folder filled with photographs.
Old ones.
Some slightly faded with age.
She spread them gently across the table.
Claire stared.
Actors.
Directors.
Musicians.
Business leaders.
And tucked carefully among them—
members of their own families.
Imogen’s mother at a runway event.
One of the twins working on a film set.
Her uncle standing beside investors in Seoul.
A distant cousin accepting an art scholarship overseas.
“Hidden in plain sight,” Claire whispered.
Her mother nodded.
“Not controlled,” she clarified softly.
“Protected.”
Claire studied the photographs more carefully.
They looked ordinary.
They looked normal.
“That’s the point.’
Her mother gently closed the folder again.
“The world you were born into is changing, Claire.”
“How?”
“The old ways of hiding are dying.”
She sat back down.
“So now,” she said carefully, “we build visibility instead.”
Claire looked uncertain.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“But safer than the crater.”
The room fell silent again.
They both knew that was true.
Finally, her mother reached across the table and touched Claire’s hand gently.